Hey, it's Mike Waters from the Waters Wake Up Call.
We were celebrating two days, two days, two days in one.
Sorry, I was referencing an old commercial there.
But any who is National Bad Poetry Day and Helium Day.
So I'll tell you why you take bad poetry, you mix it with helium, and what do you get?
Oh, it's a concoction like you've never heard.
In fact, you know, before we go to some calls, I think I'm going to start off with one that I wrote this morning.
It's about back to school, and it's bad, and here goes.
First, inhale
some helium.
It's back to school time again, brah.
Reading and writing in algebra.
I hope the teachers are cool.
then maybe I'll like school.
Perhaps this year I can graduate, or next year I'll be in fifth grade, year 48.
Oh, thank you, thank you.
You hate me, you really hate me, and think I'm a bad poet.
Good morning.
Well, Julie, of course, I knew you were gonna call.
You usually come up with good poems.
Well, I tried really hard all weekend to find a bad one.
Okay.
Well, gosh, it must be pretty awful.
It was.
It was in my brain, but here it goes.
Okay.
Are you ready?
Oh, I think so.
Let's get you some helium first, Julie.
Bad
poetry can be awful and crummy, dreadfully lousy, poor, and terrible.
Shoddy poetry is horrible.
That was pretty bad.
In fact, I might have to quote one of your words and say horrible.
Yeah.
I looked up all the words that meant bad and just put them together.
There you go.
You'd think it'd be easy to write a bad poem, but it really isn't.
I know, because I was trying to stay away from the rhyme so it would be worse.
Right.
And to make it sound like, oh my god, that's a bad poem, because it's almost like you have to try to write a good poem for it to really be a bad poem.
Yeah.
You know what I mean?
Mm-hmm.
Like, truly
bad.
A helium.
What's that?
The helium will make the poem not be humdrum.
Very good.
Said
we got extra credit if we could rhyme helium, but I rhymed it with humdrum.
That's right.
Just do the helium one again.
But first, inhale some not humdrum helium.
Go.
You
know on a scale of 1 to 10 I'd call that a
medium.
Brilliantly terrible.
There was another one we were supposed to do.
I wrote a poem about a Subaru, but I can't remember the poem.
Because it was a good one.
At the end, you went Subaru.
I have a Subaru.
That's going to be my challenge.
By the end of the morning, I'm going to write a Subaru poem.
That'll be great.
I'll be listening.
A Subaru is the car I drive as I pass all eyes are jealous and that's no jive.
The engine's so loud it goes suba vroom vroom.
The only driver cooler would be Scooby Dooby Doo.
Good morning, Mike.
Good morning.
How are you?
I'm great.
This is dusk.
to dawn
why hello dusk
to dawn I felt the need to call in and to convey the depths of my emotion with a poem
that that's that's pretty deep dusk to dawn
it is it's getting deeper
yeah it is yes I need some extra long waiting boots I think to get through this deep whatever it is are you
ready to hear
it I sure am yes please
try
Oh,
good.
When you were saying buck and luck, I didn't know how that was gonna end with the rhyming and things, so I'm so glad it was stuck.
Well, you didn't really, but you decided to go the nice way and not
because I
think the only two left two words that rhymed with buck and luck were stuck and, you know, yes, right.
Well shocks, I didn't even think of shock.
See?
I thought there were only four, but there are five.
Here
I thought we were stuck in the muck.
Oh,
six.
Six.
I
know, you know, I may take all of these stuck-look-buck-duck-duck.
Geez, I may take these awkwards and write another poem.
Maybe that'll be another challenge I'll give to myself.
There you go.
You have another hour?
Something.
Well, you have a good day.
Monday's most common question is what the duck?
Even when moving, I'm feeling stuck.
This is no way to make a buck.
Rickles may be dead, but I'm still a hockey
puck.
I have a horrible, horrible poem I just wrote for you.
I can't wait.
All right, let's get you some helium first.
And some appropriate poetry recitation music.
Okay, whenever you're ready.
Dear Mr. Waters.
What's in a name?
Crazy as River Otters.
Yet I am the same.
Nothing could be finer than the admiration of a liner in the morning.
That's all I got.
Wow.
That was terrible.
Well done.
I know.
Well done, right?
Yep.
You get you get the Pulitzer for rotten poem.
You know, I have always been a poet and my feet show it because they're long sellers
Yeah
We had to
write a thing Claire, you know what that is
no clue
I've
never heard of such a
thing
And
people laugh every time I say it, and I've remembered it since seventh grade, and I'm your age.
Awesome.
Well, before you deliver this classic, inhale some helium.
It goes, my cat is gray and white.
He plays with me a lot.
We got him from Mrs. Quigley.
Meow.
That is pretty funny now.
Is it all true though?
It's all true
that makes it even even better Yeah, yeah, and the best I can do is say hey that was great And you hear the sarcasm there, so it wasn't really all that great I know you're only in seventh grade and all but
yeah, but I thought it was kind of neat because I had just gotten my cat Yeah in my head
But really on second thought, I mean, considering how old you were and what the assignment was, it wasn't really all that bad.
Do you think
it's good?
I think, with the fact that you were seven, it's a special kind of poem, and you're talking about your cat and getting it from Mrs. Quigley, I think that's all hilarious.
It's a great story.
With the backstory of the poem, I think it makes it all great.
I know.
Yeah.
And he did play with me a lot.
Yeah.
And it was a cat, so he said meow.
Well, it was logical.
It's a great story.
But I would say technically, it's probably considered a bad poem.
Yeah.
Mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic,
mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic, mic,
If you weren't trucking, you'd be sailing boats.
Possibly.
Yeah,
I don't know.
I was trying
to write you a poem.
Oh, OK.
Yeah, that's what I was trying to do.
Do you have a bad poem?
Poem notes?
It's pretty bad.
Good.
Let's hear it.
It's called Trucker's Life.
OK.
First, inhale some helium.
OK.
OK.
There you go.
You should be ready.
I think I shot enough
through the
phone to you.
OK.
A trucker's life is never done.
Always on the run, traveling the country every day having lots of fun, hoping and praying that a road rage driver doesn't pass him with a loaded gun.
That
is
pretty bad.
That
might
be the worst I've heard.
Did
you just make that up like on the spot?
Because that's what it sounded like, huh?
Yeah, I just kind of made it up.
OK, because that's what it sounded like.
That's how bad it was.
That was really bad, huh?
It was.
It was.
Okay, well,
you guys, you don't have to air that, Dan.
Well, no, of course, it's a perfect poem for today, is what I'm saying.
I'm complimenting you by telling you how bad it is.
I
didn't ask for good poems, hollanoats.
Well, okay, I knew it was pretty bad, but I didn't
know it was the worst.
What's happening, Woody?
Woody is procrastinating going on cleaning the chicken coop.
But if I give you some really bad poetry, then I'm curious to see how it comes across with the effect of helium.
Now, before you start, I just want to say I hope you don't omit a perfect rhyme that you could be using with chicken coop and chicken poop.
So answer me this, do you include it?
No, it involves...
That I don't want to hear it.
It's a Thanksgiving poem, I wrote it.
But it's August!
Well, it's her, you know.
Thanksgiving will be here before you know it.
Is it a turkey of a poem?
Oh, you better believe it is.
My fourth grade teacher put it up.
I think she probably wet herself when she read it.
Oh, my.
Well, do you have any pictures along with the poem?
Maybe something you can visual aid?
I don't know.
Go ahead.
Give me the poem.
You can pretty much picture this with your imagination.
It goes gobble, gobble, gobble.
The turkey lost his head.
Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Little pilgrim boy went and found him dead.
Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Now the little pilgrim boy has lost his head.
It's rather morbid and...
It's dark.
It is.
It's a dark poem that I can't be grateful for or thankful for.
And I would, again, encourage you to rhyme chicken coop with chicken poop if that's what you're procrastinating to do.
Maybe you should further procrastinate to clean the chicken poop by writing the bad poem about
the
chicken coop poop.
I have a weather window.
Well, that's
a bad poem, too.
Was that a poem that you just read?
No.
It should have been.
It's a bad poem.
I do know one.
OK, but first inhale this helium.
I'm going to shoot through the phone.
Hey,
it's already bad.
This is
awesome.
We're a newspaper dressed to the ball.
Her dress caught on fire and burned her entire front page, sporting section and all.
Unlike that, I've never heard that one.
That was a good clean limerick, Bruce.
It is.
And even though it's not a bad poem, we'll just say it is.
Weekday mornings, 5.30 to
10.
